Aggie told herself a baby would be the making of James the Strong, that he would burst forth from the shadows of his father and become the man she thought he should be . . . and when she didn’t believe that, she told herself she could manipulate with a little bed-diving.
The truth was, she didn’t have much choice.
James the Strong followed her about like one of those four-legged creatures who followed him about. But, unlike James the Strong, she didn’t toss sticks for him to fetch; she silently put up with him, unsure of what to do, what Arthur of the North would have her do.
Arthur of the North had embraced Aggie and James the Strong’s relationship, forever telling her that she would be the making of his son. ?She was still waiting . . .?She never did believe Arthur of the North, but she didn’t argue, because when James the Strong shut his mouth, he was delicious to be with. And at least she knew where she stood, she told herself, not like those in the shed.?And if James the Strong knew about his father and Aggie, he never let on. He assumed a night with him was enough to keep a woman, that Aggie would never look at another again. Besides, his father had loved the idea of him and Aggie.
“You need a younger man,” he said. “Just like him.”
It was like he had thrown them together, like clay on a potter’s wheel swirling around for molding . . .?Into what, Aggie had no idea.
After the funeral and several days of emptying the city of its homebrew and hemp supplies, James the Strong stared out into the mess of the courtyard. Sipping his hemp tea, he watched the dawn sunrise on a courtyard strewn with paper plates, crushed cups, and piles of hemp dog-ends.?His father would have controlled the celebrations better; at least have the punters tidy up.
Suddenly it hit him, what a great leader his father was; he had never noticed, let alone told him. He was too busy fooling around, annoying the Librarian, chasing skirt. He was so far up his own arse he never saw the work his father did. All he’d done was take the love of his father’s life from him, just because he could.? Shame slapped him like a wet fish around the face, then doubt followed; how could he carry on?? He watched as people began to trickle into the courtyard looking for leadership.
He drained his tea . . . then retired to his room, pulled the curtains across the magnificent waterfall view, slumped on his bed, and cried.
The Librarian, with a box of recycled tissues, didn’t even knock. He burst in, shoved the box under James the Strong’s nose, and told him to, “pull your royal arse together.”
James the Strong, a little confused about the arse-pulling, blew his nose, the noise trumpeting through the corridors as loud as his tiptoeing.
“You’re all that they have.” The Librarian gestured to the now-chanting masses.
James the Strong sniffed.
“It may not be much . . .” said the Librarian.
“What do you mean ‘much’?” James the Strong glared.
“But it is what it is.” The Librarian sighed with camp drama.
“And what is that?” huffed James the Strong. He blew his nose again; the tissue buckled under the volume.
“A people ready to be led, a city ready to expand, make things, taxes to spend,” said the Librarian. “Your father left you a lot.”
“What am I to do with it?” James the Strong looked at his soaked tissue. “Me, a man that pulls spaceships and gets four-legged creatures to fetch?”
The Librarian handed him a fresh tissue. “It’s a start.”
“Start? My father made it look so easy, I’m shaking in my boots,” said James the Strong.
“First thing you need to do is some addressing.”
“Oh?” said James the Strong.
“A speech about your father,” said the Librarian.
“Arrrrh, yes—that’s what Aggie said. She made one, said I could use it.”
“How sweet,” muttered the Librarian, who had also written one.? “The next is perhaps get rid of her.”
James the Strong jumped. “Get rid of her? I can’t get rid of her. She’s the only thing I want—no, need. I can’t make . . . do . . . anything. She is my rock, my waterfall, my pouch of hemp, my—”
“Or . . .” the Librarian interrupted.
“What?” said James the Strong.
“Change her status,” he said with a look of distaste.
“She? A woman? There is no status . . . well, except to keep me happy, and perhaps a little filing in the library.”
“Bit more than that,” muttered the Librarian.
“Well yes, but a woman is but a uterus for seed.”
“That sort of talk will get you thrown to the outlands,” muttered the Librarian.
thought James the Strong, thinking of the sunburnt Alien.
“And she is carrying your child,” said the Librarian.
“Oh yes, forgot about that. Need to hang around, I suppose.” James the Strong stared at his tissue wondering just how flimsy a piece of hemp could be.
“Suppose?” snapped the Librarian. “For years you have been banging on about a child—”
“Have I?” said James the Strong. He tossed his tissue at the bin and watched it hit its mark.
“Yes, like that waterfall out your window. You’ve never stopped.”
“Oh.” James the Strong stopped. “Should you be talking to me like this?”
“Well, someone has to.”
“That’s what Aggie says,” muttered James the Strong.
James the Strong stood on the balcony overlooking the waterfall and pulled out Aggie’s speech. He had read it so many times he could recite it if it wasn’t for his nerves.? Aggie waited in the wings until James the Strong pulled her beside him and slid his arm into hers.? The crowd hushed; a woman so flagrantly branded like a prized four-legged creature was unheard of.? She thought about pushing away, until James the Strong slid his other hand on her belly and she caught the Librarian’s eye. ?She didn’t move but forced a smile, thanking the gods of the galaxies that she had put a decent dress on.
James the Strong talked of his father and the crowd listened.? James the Strong, under the guidance of Aggie, had organized drummers and food, and as the crowd—hungover and hungry—moved towards the food, he turned to Aggie.? Over the few days following his father’s death, he had thought of many things, some which made his head hurt, but thanks to the Librarian, he had come to one conclusion. ?If he didn’t have Aggie on his side, someone else would, and that someone would take over what he had. Not that he didn’t dream of running away, but over the last few days, he had watched the masses and realized being one of them would be worse than trying to tame a wild horse with only a set of piles for company.
He turned to Aggie. “I don’t want to share you,” he said. “I want you all to myself.”
Aggie was silent.
“And I was thinking, now I am, well, in my father’s footsteps, I could make changes.”
she thought.?“You watch, James the Strong will change,” he’d said. “He’ll want to leave his own stamp on things, and you’ll need to use all your bed-diving powers to keep him in tow—not make a mess of things.”
Aggie looked into the hard and black eyes of the giant.
“I want you and my son beside me,” he muttered.
She thought of her son. His legacy.?James the Strong gestured for the band to stop. The crowd looked up . . .
“No more quotas, no more nurturing shed—as my Aggie says, ‘the times they are a-changing.’”
“What?” said Aggie.
The crowd looked from one to the other, confused. Aggie?
“There is more than one way to build a city, and I have found mine,” said James the Strong.
With great ceremony, he unraveled the Librarian’s speech to read.? “We need to treasure our women, stop all this appointment business,” he pronounced.
The crowd muttered and murmured, some in panic.
“Does that mean no sex?” shouted a voice from the back.
“Segregation?” shouted another.?James the Strong looked about his “flock,” as he had taken to calling them, and tightened his grip on Aggie.?“This is my Aggie, who I own, take care of, feed, and . . . make babies with. And I invite all you men to do the same—choose a woman to care for.”
The crowd hushed; the men and women looked at each other. Were they to cheer?
This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
